Authors: Jami Davenport
"Razor, please. No need to be formal."
"My family will be insanely jealous when I tell them about this.” Severe understatement. Her brothers would kill to meet the legendary receiver.
He motioned to a seat across the table, and they sat down. “I'm guessing you're curious why I contacted you."
"Very curious.” She wrapped herself in a cocoon of cool professionalism and waited for him to make the next move.
"You're aware I'm the wide receiver coach for the Jacks."
"Of course."
"Do you believe there are no coincidences in life?"
"I'm not sure."
"Well, I do. Everything happens for a reason."
"Okay.” She spoke with caution, not sure what direction this conversation was heading.
"Harris was razzing Ramsey yesterday in the locker room about you. It seems you're helping him with his technique."
"A little. So far it's not helping."
"I found it curious and did a little digging. I know about your father."
"He's innocent.” The words tumbled out too fast, but she didn't regret them.
Razor's expression didn't change. “Regardless, you shouldn't pay for his mistakes. You have quite a football background. In fact, it's your passion."
"It is. My aspiration is to be a pro scout."
"I understand all about passion, Rachel. I also understand how hard it is to be a woman in this league."
"You do?"
"My wife is an athletic trainer for the Jacks."
"I had no idea."
"Most people don't. She uses her maiden name because she wants to make it on her own merits. There's more. It just so happens Marc Brent and I played college ball together."
"The former coach for the Blockbusters."
Razor nodded. “He sings your praises, says you have the most incredible football mind."
"For a woman."
"I didn't say that."
"But you thought it.” Rachel smiled.
Razor smiled too. “Perhaps. Did Ramsey tell you I'm making him my special project?"
Rachel nodded.
"We're going to need your help, he and I."
Doubt slid through her. “Okay."
"Good to see you brought a laptop."
"I've started a training plan for Derek.” She opened it and handed it to Razor. He nodded as he read it.
For over an hour, they mapped their strategy until the owner of the coffee shop flicked the lights on and off and stood at the door, key in hand.
Rachel jumped to her feet. Razor was slower to rise. He walked her to her car.
"You can count on me, Razor.” She opened her car door and slid onto the seat.
"There is one more thing."
"Sure. Anything."
"Please don't be offended—"
The next evening, Rachel sat on her porch with her laptop, creating one of her cyberlists. This particular list outlined several confidence-building exercises for Derek. She'd spent the day researching online, everything from tips and tricks of the best receivers in the business to sports psychology. Despite her eventual goal, he paid her to do a job, and she'd do it well. Maybe his confession wouldn't ruin his career. After all, he'd just been a high school kid at the time.
But Rachel knew better. Derek would be done with professional football, and so would Tyler. They'd lose their chance to play the game they loved, make Seattle into a winner, and realize their lifelong dream of making the Super Bowl. Yet the guilty party needed to pay, no matter how much it hurt. Her stomach churned at the futility of it all. She'd gotten attached, which had thrust her into a lose-lose situation no matter how she looked at it.
She was getting ahead of herself. First the confession. Then the damage control, which wasn't her problem. Not...really.
She looked up as Derek walked toward her.
"Hi.” He grinned that little-boy grin that sent her heart from Antarctica to the Caribbean in a split second.
"Hi."
"I'm looking for Simon. Have you seen him?"
"He's been hanging out here all day. Can't you keep him in the kennel?” As if on cue, the ever-present canine thief materialized and sat next to Derek, tail thumping and looking too pleased with himself. She wondered what he'd stolen now. From his perch on the porch rail, Charlie arched his back and hissed.
"I put him in every morning, but he gets out. I thought I'd plugged all the holes. He's incredible."
"I hear the circus is looking for dogs like him."
"I can't believe you don't love this dog.” Derek patted Simon's head.
She glared at the furry bandit. He grinned and thumped his tail harder. “You don't know him like I know him."
"To know him is to love him.” His gaze shifted downward to the bandage on her knee. “What happened this time?"
"I tripped. Again.” Rachel tugged on the bottom of her skirt to cover her knees.
Derek raised one eyebrow but didn't pursue that line of conversation. Smart man. He bounded up the porch steps and angled around to look at the laptop screen. “Damn. You're incredible. You've color-coded your to-do lists?” He scanned the details. “This is for me."
"Absolutely. We'll start tomorrow evening with some hand-eye coordination drills."
"I do those all the time."
"You'll be doing more of them."
"Razor talked to you."
"Maybe. Maybe I did my research. Maybe both."
"Damn. I'm impressed."
"Thanks.” She'd always had a talent for quickly and efficiently organizing any task without getting bogged down in minutiae. It was one of her strengths. In college she'd organized his homework assignments and other tasks and saved him countless hours of frustration, not to mention wasted time.
"You should play up your organizational abilities. It's a talent."
"I can't imagine how that'd help me become a scout."
"It plays right into scouting. Don't you think those guys have to keep track of every little detail of every player they're scouting?"
"I guess you're right."
"Everyone has to start somewhere. You don't walk into a job like scouting. Use your talents as your way in. Capitalize on them."
He picked up the book sitting on the porch. Studying it, he turned it over to read the back-cover blurb. “Allie K. Adams, huh? ‘If it doesn't sizzle, it's not hot enough'? Rae, I never would have pegged you as someone who reads this kind of playbook in your spare time.” He assessed her as if he'd never really seen this side of her.
Well, she had to get her kicks somewhere. Allie K. Adams's books made for great company on lonely nights. “It's not my book. It's Cass's. She wants me to read it.” All part of Cass's campaign to change her image. “Ty liked it too."
"Ty? No way in hell. He can't even read."
"You'd be surprised. Some men enjoy romance."
His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you hinting I'm not romantic and Tyler is?” He seemed incredulous.
"I wouldn't know, and it's none of my concern."
He frowned as he considered that. Flipping open the book to a spot in the middle, he read a few paragraphs to himself. His eyes got bigger. His face turned red. He looked up from the book. “Have
you
read this book? It's kinky. No wonder Tyler likes it."
"I've read several just like it,” she lied. A partial lie—she did intend to read it.
"No way.” He shook his head in disbelief, but she could tell he was worried. Rachel turned away and made a show of throwing the ball for Simon.
He stared at her for a long minute. “You're bullshitting me."
She raised one eyebrow and gave her most innocent “little ol’ me?” expression. His sexy mouth crooked in a grin; those warm brown eyes twinkled with mischief. Oh Lord, she wanted to taste that mouth again, wrap herself in those strong arms, and beg him to carry her to the bedroom. Maybe she'd even read him a few passages from Allie's book to set the scene—not that they'd need much encouragement.
Her heart forgot to beat. She missed him, everything about him. He'd kept his hands to himself so far. What if he didn't? Then where would she be? Most likely ripping the man's clothes off and running her hands all over that toned body. One night, just one more night with him. What she'd give for that.
Now she was thinking like a country song.
Heaven help her. Grabbing the book from him, she fanned herself with the hot romance novel, but doing so only served to fan those flames. Derek removed it from her hand. Smoldering dark eyes held hers for a brief moment.
Snapping his fingers at his dog, he turned to leave.
"Derek, where are you going with my book?"
"I'm borrowing it. I want to see what I'm missing."
Rachel adopted her best no-nonsense pose—easy to do in her perfect casual business attire. It wasn't so easy to feel a level of comfort in these clothes. She wondered if she'd ever get used to them. Cass had a knack for finding dirt-cheap clothes in all sorts of places, from bargain basement sales to secondhand stores. A whistle, courtesy of Derek, hung around her neck.
Her manner of dress instilled a wariness in Derek that kept him at arm's length, another excellent reason to continue the ruse. Thank goodness, because Razor's outrageous suggestion on how to relax Derek made her even more aware of Derek's sexuality. The chemistry between them sizzled like a live electric charge. The suggestion had been ridiculous, of course, even if a teensy part of her toyed with the possibility. Men often revealed their innermost secrets during bedroom play.
Tyler stood about ten feet away, jaws moving with a steady stream of complaints, as he tossed a football in the air.
"He bitches like an old woman.” Derek winked at Rachel, and she nodded agreement.
"Hey, I heard that.” Tyler groused. “This is fucking stupid. A fucking waste of time. I can't believe we're doing this. This is fucking junior high stuff. Peewee football shit. Basic crap. We're way beyond this."
"You're never beyond the basics, Grandma. Quit your griping,” Derek shot back.
Tyler flipped him the bird.
Derek laughed and turned to Rachel, ignoring the white noise caused by Tyler's grumbling. “Okay, boss, what's next?"
Rachel outlined the next exercise she wanted them to run, per instructions from Razor. “Ty, I want you to stand five yards away. Toss the ball both overhead and low. Derek, practice turning different ways and catching the ball. Keep your eyes on the point of the ball."
"You're fucking kidding me?” Tyler snorted from his post a few yards away. “I could run these piece-of-shit drills in my sleep."
"Then shut your eyes and do it!” She'd never found Tyler the least bit intimidating. She'd figured him out long ago. His bluster and badass attitude concealed a very confused and insecure person. People rarely spared the time to scratch beneath his surface to see the real person underneath. They took him at face value and loved to hate him. He perpetuated the myth and encouraged the hatred, basking in the attention.
Derek, on the other hand, just wanted everyone to love him, like a big, faithful dog. Together they'd been the best players her father ever produced.
Rachel blew her whistle. “A hundred times. Get started, boys. We don't have all night."
Frowning, Tyler looked at his cousin. “I don't remember her being this bossy."
"It's the suit.” Derek sighed and took his position.
For the next couple of hours, Tyler tossed the ball and Derek caught it. Rachel blew her whistle and gave orders. The guys worked until sweat dripped off their brows and left patches on their T-shirts. Once they settled in, Tyler went right to work, perfectionist that he was. It didn't matter if he was lobbing a short pass or throwing a bomb, he took each pass as seriously as a touchdown pass in a regular season game. He berated his cousin for every dropped ball and bobbled pass. Rachel let him talk. She wouldn't be there to shut him up during a game. Afterward they stood together and discussed the results.
"Thanks, Rae.” Derek grinned at her, a little of the old confidence shining in his eyes. Her heart flip-flopped, and she smiled back.
Tyler smacked her on the back. “You're all right. You know that? You can be my coach any day."
Rachel stumbled, but Derek was ready. His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to him. Tyler watched them both with sharp, knowing eyes. For once he held his tongue.
"Sorry.” Tyler almost looked contrite.
"That's okay, Ty.” She pushed away from Derek. He dropped his arm from around her, almost as if he'd forgotten it was there.
Tyler threw back his head and howled. “You two are so fucking pathetic. Just hop in the sack and get it over with.” Turning, he sauntered to his car. His laughter drifted on the evening breeze.
Derek scanned the sparse crowd for Rachel and found her sitting with Mitch directly behind the bench about twenty rows up. His former good buddy caught his eye, glared at him, and gave him the one-finger salute. Derek faced the field and wiped the image from his mind. Time to concentrate on the game, not the past. The game was all that mattered and the only thing partially under his control.
The Rams kicked off to the Jacks, and the punt returner bobbled the ball, falling on it ten yards from the wrong end zone. A few plays later, Dante leaped in the air to make an impossible catch on an overthrown ball. As he came down, two defenders slammed into him. His body rocketed several yards before bouncing across the turf like a rock skimming a pond. When he finally came to rest, he didn't move.
Shit.
The trainers tore out to the field. Derek stood with the rest of his teammates, straining to catch a glimpse of Dante and sending up a silent prayer for him to be okay. After several nerve-racking minutes, Dante wobbled to his feet and staggered off the field wedged between two huge tackles.
"Ramsey, get your ass in there!"
Derek jumped, so absorbed in worry about Dante that HughJack's bellowing startled him.
He strapped on his helmet and raced onto the field. One sack and a broken play later, the Jacks were backed up to their end zone, third down and twenty-two on the one. HughJack threw down his battered clipboard, stomped on it, and cussed a blue streak. Their second regular game of the season was turning to crap.